Wading In

My parents both worked when I was little so we had to have someone take care of us during the summer. We lived near Volunteer Park in Seattle so Allie Mae would walk us there around noon every day. The Park had to be at least a mile away and we had to climb steep steps up to 15th, but we never complained. Even my little sister who was six at the most.

We’d spread out a blanket and have lunch (tuna sandwiches and potato chips) in the park on a great green lawn in front of the Art Museum. Sometimes Allie Mae would take us to the playground. Someone Mother knew had gotten polio in a public pool so we were forbidden to go into the wading pool. One very hot day, Allie Mae relented and allowed us to put our feet in. We were content for 5 minutes, but then we looked at all the kids splashing and kicking and screaming with glee. So we waded in a little deeper…and then a little deeper. Soon our pedal pushers were wet to the thighs. Allie Mae scolded us all the way home.

There was no one to scold me today as I walked along the beach. I didn’t really intend to get my feet wet. The sand clings to your skin and it seems a lot of effort to get it off. Then a wave rolled in right over my toes. Then I found a piece of coral that was magenta and green so I had to go a little deeper to see if there were any more treasures. Then a big wave came in and once more, I was wet to my thighs.

I’m sitting here writing this with sand between my toes and a grin on my face.